


Basement Therapy

by K9Lasko



Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, Awkward Sexual Situations, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Romance, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 05:24:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4948336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K9Lasko/pseuds/K9Lasko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes they need a little bit of basement therapy. But are they doing it for the right reasons?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Basement Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> Blatantly Tibbs. Fairly explicit sexual content at times. You have been warned. Not all that positive. 
> 
> This fills the "therapy" spot of my h/c bingo card.
> 
> Set when Kate was still around.

He found DiNozzo loitering in his basement, poking through things he shouldn’t be poking through, not necessarily invited, but then again, Gibbs neither encouraged nor discouraged the open-door policy around here.

“You get lost on the way home?” 

Tony startled, pivoting around in a rush. Somehow he made the movement smooth, practiced and intentional. And instantly Tony was smiling that smile he always pulled out when he meant to deflect suspicion. With a breathy laugh, he shook his head, admitting, “Too wired to sleep, I guess.” 

Gibbs waited for him to go on, and he did, eventually. He knew Tony could not tolerate prolonged silence. There was always something to say in order to fill the void.

His voice was very quiet now. Hesitant. “Thought, uh, maybe you could use some company.”

DiNozzo didn’t do hesitant. Ever. He was a man used to making decisions and sticking with them. He was a man who knew how to take charge. But now he seemed more like a man who didn’t know where to start, unsure of the current situation, and where he fit in it. 

“DiNozzo—“ Gibbs huffed, waving him off with an uncoordinated hand. He had enough to worry about right now, and dealing with Tony’s sudden insecurities wasn’t ranking high on his list of priorities. 

But Tony had already closed the distance between them, and he was inspecting the angry line of sutures that extended from the top of Gibbs’ brow, ending by his ear. There was still some blood in his hair and on his clothes, and the eye below the gash was already purple and swollen. 

“I see they patched you up a bit,” Tony observed, coolly. 

“Yeah,” Gibbs said. “They did. I’m still alive.” 

“You almost weren’t.” Tony’s tone had gone sour. “Again.”

“I’m still alive,” Gibbs repeated.

Tony looked at him for a long while. Finally, he swallowed hard, and asked, “Who dropped you off?”

“McGee. Took a while to convince him he didn’t need to tuck me into bed. We saw your car. Figured—“ He shrugged.

“Figured?”

“Figured you’d wanna hang around. Decompress. Three’s a crowd. Plus, McGee’s got to get home to… what’s her name again?” 

Tony laughed, although the sound was missing any and all humor. “And what? I got no one, right?”

“Never said that.” Gibbs didn’t take the bait. Any other day he might’ve. He added, “You’re the one who came here. I didn’t ask you.”

“Nor would you have,” Tony blurted. “I took the initiative. Like always.”

That cut to the bone. Gibbs stared at him, trying to work something out. “Got a bug up your butt, DiNozzo?

“Yeah, I do, actually. A whole hive.”

“The door’s that way,” Gibbs reminded him, suddenly.

“But that’s not how you want this to end, right?”

Gibbs stepped forward, stumbling slightly, and challenged, “This what?”

“This conversation.”

“Okay,” Gibbs relented. He noticed how Tony attempted to hide his relief. He failed at it. “Talk.”

“What about?” Tony hedged.

“You.”

Tony laughed and looked away.

Gibbs suddenly reached out, grabbing him firmly by the chin. He insisted, oddly gentle, “Talk.”

“Work,” Tony admitted. It was a lie. Gibbs could see that. “Work’s bothering me.”

“Try again,” Gibbs said. 

Tony pulled away. “You know, you’re actually no good at the whole talk therapy thing.”

“Not my intention.” Gibbs stared at the side of Tony’s head. He wished he could crawl in there, just to see what he was thinking. Just for once, he wanted to know what was going on behind all that expensive hair gel and carefully manufactured bullshit. “So what is it?” Gibbs asked. “What has very Special Agent Tony DiNozzo so bothered?”

Tony was frowning now.

“You came here for something. So what is it? I’m tired, DiNozzo. Tell me what you need.”

“You,” Tony finally answered, turning back on Gibbs and looking rather pissed. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” 

Now it was Gibbs’ turn to frown. Maybe he had misunderstood. “Come again?”

Tony’s words came in a rush. “Because you got your head fucking bashed open, and where was I?”

“I don’t know.” Gibbs felt Tony crowd him against a sawhorse. “Where were you?”

“I wasn’t there, with you. For you.” 

“Ah, well I must’ve missed the memo.”

“What memo?” Tony spat.

“The one that announced your super-human abilities.” 

That familiar crease formed between Tony’s eyes, like when he was confused and trying to work something out on his own.

“There was nothing you could’ve done, doofus. So you weren’t there. McGee wasn’t there, either. You gonna blame him?”

Tony shook his head. “No, but I should’ve been there.” 

“You weren’t. That’s okay. And hey, here I am. Fine. Nothing some good fishing line and a sharp needle couldn’t fix.” Gibbs knew Tony wasn’t convinced, so he stepped closer to the man, leaned into his space, smelled his smell. Chewing gum and stale coffee. “Stand down, DiNozzo. Nothing you could’ve done. Sometimes you won’t be there.”

Tony licked his lips, leaned his forehead into Gibbs’, and simply breathed. They stood there in an awkward embrace for longer than should have been appropriate for just friends.

Then Gibbs moved his face, his lips touching Tony’s. They kissed, briefly, and they relished in the unexpected moment, Gibbs running his hands up Tony’s back. 

At least until Tony pulled away abruptly, breathing in a noisy gust of air and turning his body away with it. “I really should go,” he announced. “Feeling better. Thanks for the talk.”

Gibbs saw Tony’s hand on his crotch, shifting himself around in discomfort. It was amusing. So, amusing, in fact, Gibbs’ reached out to grab Tony by the arm. And before he’d given it any thought, he was already saying, “You should stay.”

“I know you don’t want that.” Tony was still touching himself. His face was red, either from embarrassment or from basic arousal, Gibbs couldn’t tell. It was ridiculous. “I get it,” Tony went on. “Really…”

“Shut up,” Gibbs said. “I just spent five solid hours in the emergency room, and there was only one thing on my mind.” 

Tony, for once, kept his mouth shut.

“You wanna know what that was?”

Tony wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He could still feel the warmth of Gibbs’ lips on his own, the warmth of his whole body near him, and the taste of him. He wanted to do it again. For longer. Harder. Then he wanted to do something with his dick, because he felt crazy horny, and it was taking a monumental effort not to start jacking off right here, right now in Gibbs’ basement. In front of Gibbs. Like all those fantasies he’d been secretly engaging in. He spoke hoarsely, “What was on your mind?”

“You,” Gibbs said. 

Tony swallowed.

“So, I guess we both got a problem,” Gibbs went on.

“With each other?” Tony asked stupidly.

Gibbs laughed. “Yeah.” He let Tony’s arm go.

“Right.” 

“But, there’s a time and a place, DiNozzo,” Gibbs said. “And I’ll tell you right now that this won’t work out between us.”

Tony shook his head. “Here. Now,” he insisted. “I’ll make it work.”

Gibbs felt hands on his belt. Those same hands were undoing the buckle, sliding the leather free from the belt loops. “It won’t work…” he heard himself saying, but most of the conviction was lost to sudden desire, something that seemed provoked only by Tony’s hands and Tony’s eyes. He could feel his stare, intent and focused. He breathed out noisily; it ended in a groan as Tony sank slowly to his knees, dragging Gibbs’ pants down with him. “We shouldn’t do this.”

He tried not thinking about how long it had been since he’d last had sex. The prospect felt too damn good.

“Now it’s my turn to tell you to shut up,” Tony said, face turned upward.

Smiling slowly at his cheeky boldness, Gibbs touched Tony’s face, memorizing it with the pads of his fingers.

“All I can see is you on the ground,” Tony went on. “Bleeding. Can’t get it out of my head. And don’t try to make me feel better with all those bullshit placatory phrases. I’m too smart for that.” 

“I know you are,” Gibbs whispered. “You’re a smart guy.” He closed his eyes as he felt Tony’s tongue licking him. Tasting him. He tried to fantasize that it was a woman’s mouth touching him. A woman’s mouth he could gently fuck.

And then Tony had to admit, “I’ve never done this before.” 

Gibbs opened his eyes and looked down at Tony, who was busy working his mouth over his cock, which was already hard. Painfully hard. Kid was a quick study. A dirty thought came to mind; he’d known that mouth was good for more than mindless chatter. He instantly felt badly for having even thought it.

“This okay?” Tony asked.

“Yeah,” Gibbs said. He closed his eyes again. Imagined a woman again. A woman, not the man that Tony was. He carded fingers through short hair, grabbed onto enough of it and thrust his hips slowly, feeling his enthusiasm grow. “Fuck.”

It didn’t take long for him to come, and it would have been embarrassing if Gibbs wasn’t impressed that he’d lasted even that long. And soon after that, Gibbs still reveling in the release, Tony was gagging. It brought Gibbs quickly out of his sex euphoria. He let go of Tony’s head, and none soon enough, because Tony was on his hands and knees puking on his basement floor.

“Jesus,” Gibbs swore, yanking his pants back up hastily. “You okay?”

Tony stared at the small mess, then stared up at Gibbs. Tony looked a bit green, but he was smiling, a bit bemused. “Gag reflex,” he said. “Got a little carried away.”

“You think?” Gibbs muttered. He ran his hands over his face. Now what? They couldn’t do this.

“C’mon, you.” He pulled Tony up by the wrists. “You can stay in the guest room.” He studiously avoided mention of what they’d just done down here, or how good it felt. Just like he studiously avoided noticing Tony’s hand rubbing himself though his pants, and how arousing that looked. 

Gibbs knew the polite thing to do would be to reciprocate, but that was something he couldn’t fully commit to at this juncture. The entire situation was something that shouldn’t’ve happened, but there was something about Tony that drew him in.

They said good night in the hallway, and in the morning, the guest room’s bed was rumpled and left unmade, and the gash on Gibbs’ head stung like a sonuva bitch, and his entire body felt beat up and sore. He stood with a fresh cup of coffee, steam rolling off the top, and gazed out the kitchen window at the empty driveway.

He heard himself say, “You’re a foolish man, Jethro.”

—

DiNozzo found him right where he ought to be that night, and he stood there at the base of the basement steps for longer than he’d intended. Gibbs’ back was to him, covered up in that red USMC hoodie he often wore, but Tony could still make out the lean muscles moving underneath as the man dragged the planer tool back and forth along the wood.

“Get lost again?” Gibbs asked, without pausing his work or turning to verify his visitor was in fact who he strongly suspected he would be.

Tony licked his lips, and searched his brain for some words, but astonishingly he found he had nothing to give but suggestive looks. And all he’d had on his mind the drive over here was the sensation of Gibbs’ dick in his mouth, and how perversely rewarding that had been. There would be a second time, he’d already promised himself, but this time he wouldn’t gag or barf.

Any plan he might have cooked up from the parking lot at work to Gibbs’ driveway had come out of the oven half-baked at best.

Truth was, Tony had come here with nothing but his body and the strong belief that it would be enough.

“Can’t sleep?” Gibbs went on, recalling Tony’s answer from last night.

The planer rasped against the wood, the sound a gentle, soothing whisper. The familiarity of it gave Tony the courage he’d been seeking all day. He watched the sawdust collect softly on the concrete floor like snow.

“Thought you’d want some more company,” Tony said. “Last night was good.”

“If you’re looking for a repeat performance, DiNozzo,” Gibbs said, “you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“This is the same tree, Boss. Can’t imagine you’d change your mind so quickly.” 

“And I already told you, this isn’t gonna happen. We can’t act on this.” Finally, Gibbs stopped his work and turned, so he could see him. He set the tool aside, and fixed Tony with a look meant to discourage further argument. “So quit, while you’re ahead. And before someone’s feelings get hurt.” He stepped over to his work table, the one situated under the bare bulb that buzzed with weak yellow light. He poured a generous portion of bourbon into a glass jar and brought it to his lips. He didn’t offer anything to Tony.

Despite Gibbs’ warning look, Tony did, in fact, argue: “Who said anything about feelings, huh?” he asked. “Look, I’m not some woman you picked up at your favorite bar. I’m not looking for promises.”

Gibbs leaned back against the skeleton of his boat, sipped the liquor, and simply studied Tony, up and down.

Tony met his stare with one of his own. He bit down the foreign feeling of self-consciousness sparked by the scrutiny. He knew he wasn’t looking particularly special this evening, having come straight from work in a sweater and jeans and hair that maybe could have been a bit more carefully arranged, but if Tony got his way tonight, Gibbs’ hands would be tugging at it again.

Gibbs raised the jar again, while Tony took a series of steps toward him.

“Looks infected,” Tony said, observing the still ugly gash on Gibbs’ head. The black sutures stuck out garishly against the pale skin, now shining an angry, puffy pink. 

“It’s fine, Tony,” Gibbs said. His breath smelled strongly of the bourbon, and nothing else.

“Headaches? Memory loss?” Tony quizzed.

“Nope.”

“But you’re sore. I can tell by how you move.” 

“Fighting with a man who wants you dead has a tendency to do that,” Gibbs said.

Tony huffed. “Kate told me the whole story. It’s even worse than I’d thought.”

“Did she, now,” Gibbs raised the glass again, never taking his eyes from Tony, and gulped down more bourbon. How the man could chug that gut rot with a straight face escaped him. He enjoyed hard liquor, too — good vodka, and gin, and whiskey — but it was meant to be savored.

Tony went on, “She and I got into it a bit. Something about watching each other’s six.”

“Did you?” It came out of Gibbs’ mouth more statement than question. 

It fit. Gibbs was a man of statements, not questions, most of the time. Tony nodded, breathing in that booze breath, and said, “But then she told me the truth. ‘Bout how you went in there. No back-up. No vest. Just John Wayne’d the whole scene with zero regard for proper protocol or procedure, or the fact that he wanted to kill you and anybody else who got in his way.”

Gibbs defended himself, “I had a gun, and my knife.” 

“It was stupid,” Tony said. “And look at you now.”

“Yeah, look at me. I’m alive, enjoying some leave time, and a bad guy’s been put away. If I had waited for one of you? He’d’ve gotten away.” 

Tony swallowed hard. He knew full well that this job was a game of odds, and decisions, and pure luck. He didn’t have to like it. “Don’t do it again.” 

Gibbs smiled for the first time tonight, a look of fondness showing in his eyes.

Tony cocked his head, confused. “What?” 

“Think you’re forgetting who the boss is,” Gibbs said, casually, taking another drink.

In response, Tony grabbed the jar, removing it from Gibbs’ unyielding fingers, and took a long sip of his own. “Better than the usual,” Tony observed.

“Well,” Gibbs said, “Got some pretty good head last night. Worth celebrating with the good stuff.”

Tony drank a bit more, then pressed Gibbs even closer against the unyielding wood at Gibbs’ back. “Thought it was good?” 

Their lips met, for the first time since last night, and it couldn’t’ve come soon enough for Tony. He drank him in, the taste of the good bourbon, and the smell of wood dust clinging to his skin. The jar of bourbon pressed against Gibbs’ chest, and that’s what gave them both pause. Gibbs took it, drank more, then set it aside, pulling away as he did so.

“Too good to spill,” Gibbs said.

Against better judgment, Tony was already saying, “I need you to promise me something.” He watched the side of Gibbs’ head. He could see the portion of the sutured gash that extended to Gibbs’ ear. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

“Though you weren’t looking for promises,” Gibbs grunted. Instead of simply leaving the jar on the counter, he poured more liquor into it.

“I need you to promise me you won’t do something like that again,” Tony said.

He drank, and thought. That was as much as Tony could see, as he waited for something.

Finally, Gibbs answered, “I can’t promise you that, DiNozzo.”

Tony pressed in, using one hand to push the jar away, gently enough so as not to spill any. “Can’t, or won’t?” he asked.

Gibbs stiffened in Tony’s embrace. “Remember what I said about feelings.”

“I had to ask.” Tony kissed the side of his face, carefully avoiding the wound. His hand traveled down to cup and squeeze the bulge in Gibbs’ pants. He whispered in Gibbs’ ear, “No feelings here.”

“Not looking for a relationship,” Gibbs continued to deflect.

“Neither am I.”

Again Gibbs insisted, “Can’t do this.” 

“I know,” Tony admitted, then he said, “But it’s not real. Just a game.” Just like the previous night, Tony worked to unfasten the belt at Gibbs’ waist. He smiled at him as he dropped to his knees.

He didn’t understand the sad look Gibbs gave him as he did so, but then Tony didn’t especially care about that, because the feeling he remembered from last night was coming closer and closer to reality again. “I won’t barf this time,” Tony said, smiling, “I promise.” 

He heard Gibbs’ breath quickening, felt Gibbs giving into the prospect of getting off.

And that’s all the license Tony needed.

—

Gibbs stood at the kitchen window, coffee in hand, and stared at the empty driveway. Again, the guest bedroom was empty. Bed unmade.

—

“When are the sutures coming out?”

“Another week, I think.”

They were in the basement again. Today was the second to last day of Gibbs’ leave time, and Tony had stopped by early, expecting something, as usual.

Gibbs had started drinking early, around two p.m., and when Tony showed up, he stopped working, set his tools down, and waited.

“It looks better,” Tony was saying. 

Gibbs kept looking at his mouth. He’d gotten accustomed to those lips wrapped around his cock. The thought alone made him horny.

This was dangerous. This had always been dangerous. Soon, he’d be back at work, with Tony, and what then?

DiNozzo was dangerous.

But Gibbs poured himself more bourbon, and watched Tony from the corner of his eye as he explored more of the basement. As he poked through more things he ought not be poking through. Gibbs allowed it.

“Good bourbon tonight?” Tony asked.

“For you,” Gibbs confirmed.

Tonight, they started kissing without argument. Gibbs hands moved around Tony’s body, seeking out the familiar things they’d never find. No breasts. No pussy. No long hair.

Tony, clearly, was no woman. 

“Different for you, isn’t it, Boss?” he whispered. 

—

Gibbs was drunk when he brought Tony to bed with him, and Tony knew as much when he allowed it to happen.

Tony asked no questions as Gibbs took the lead, and Tony didn’t protest as Gibbs muscled him onto his belly. There wasn’t anymore talk about “this won’t work” or “we can’t do this.” Gibbs wanted one thing tonight. One thing only. He wanted to fuck something, wanted to stick his dick in something, and if it couldn’t be a willing woman, then Tony would do.

And Tony never protested, sucking and kissing as he was allowed.

Gibbs fantasized everything he wanted. Big breasts. Warm pussy to sink into. Soft curves.

The only thing Tony could offer was not easily won over.

Gibbs insisted on fucking him from behind. No eye contact. Very little preparation, hands fumbling with a condom, wet with lube.

Tony egged him on, all of the talk filthy, “C’mon Boss. Know you wanna fuck me hard. C’mon, do it. Better than those red heads of yours.” 

Tony grit his teeth. Gibbs was too drunk at this stage to go gently. He rammed his cock into the only opening that wasn’t Tony’s mouth. Tony gasped in pain as Gibbs jerked in and out, fucking him without much awareness, hands gripping his hips. Tony’s eyes watered, as this experience failed to be as pleasurable as advertised. 

“Stop,” he gasped, finally. Breathless, he said again, “God, slow down. It hurts.”

Luckily, Gibbs didn’t last long, the pleasure of ramming his cock into something so small and tight taking over and ensuring a speedy orgasm. 

Tony hadn’t, although he half-heartedly palmed at his flagging erection. He groaned as Gibbs pulled himself out. Warm lips traveled up his back but the kissing didn’t assuage the burn. He let himself sag to the bed. “Let me clean us up,” Gibbs whispered.

A bedside lamp turned on. “You’re bleeding,” came the announcement.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” Tony lied.

“Fuck. You’re fucking bleeding. It’s all over me. Fuck.”

“It’s fine,” Tony whispered.

Gibbs got out of bed, a bit uncoordinated. The water ran for a bit. Then he was back, holding a warm damp cloth against his asshole. Tony flinched. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he spoke into Tony’s ear. “Shoulda told me to fucking back off. Fuck.” 

Tony turned and caught his mouth, kissing and biting. He only had one thing to say: “Do it harder next time.”

Gibbs pushed him away, so he could breathe. He gave Tony a doubtful look.

“Just a game, Boss. It’s fun, isn’t it?” 

Again, Tony didn’t understand that small expression of concern. And Gibbs promised himself that this was it. This couldn’t go on. This wouldn’t work.

Whatever this was.

—

 

“This gonna affect our work?” Gibbs asked.

Tony watched him from the other side of the elevator, the picture of professionalism. He was dressed sharply today. Nice suit. Expensive suit. Perfect hair.

Perfect smile. Perfect, fuckable mouth.

His eyes laughed. “Why would it?” he asked, as if Gibbs’ had just asked the dumbest question ever.

Why would it? Gibbs asked himself.

Tony’s logic made no sense.

Tony added, “You look much better without those Frankenstein stitches on your face.”

“Thank you,” Gibbs answered, awkwardly. 

Not soon enough, the doors opened.

First day back, and the team was waiting.

—

He thought DiNozzo said he was headed out for a drink with McGee. So why was he here, in this basement, sipping on his good bourbon and looking perfectly at home?

He came out and asked it, “What’re you doing here?” 

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“It’s seven p.m.”

Tony smirked. “Thought you could use the company.”

Gibbs grunted. Seemed to be the answer du jour, and maybe DiNozzo was right. He could use the company, but what they were doing while in each other’s company was a whole other animal.

He picked up the broom and began to sweep some saw dust. Cleanliness, after all, was next to godliness, another thing this unholy union was lacking.

Not that Gibbs was particularly religious.

He felt Tony’s eyes following him. Maybe they both were waiting for something to ignite.

“I want you to fuck me again,” Tony said. Not just a statement. A demand.

Gibbs carefully gathered the dust into a mound.

“Boss—“

He thrust the broom outward, scattering the mess out across the floor again. Then he dropped the broom, and the handle hit the concrete with a sharp crack. Tony flinched, and that only strengthened Gibbs’ resolve.

“No,” he said. “No.” Gibbs reached for the jar of bourbon Tony had appropriated for himself, snatched it away, and he took a drink. Then he went on, “This stops tonight, DiNozzo. No more.”

“Boss—“ Tony went on.

“No more, or I’ll transfer you from the team. I hear Balboa is looking for help.”

That gave Tony pause. It shut him up good. He opened his mouth, gaped like a fish, then closed it again. He looked surprised, and a little bit hurt. But mostly surprised. He was used to getting his way. He’d come here again with just his body, sure that it would be enough. But Gibbs didn’t want to fall for that trick again.

Gibbs bit his lip. He also didn’t want to look at that mouth in that way again. From here on out… They had to stop this, or Tony had to go.

Simple as that.

And maybe that wasn’t fair, but at the present time, Gibbs didn’t particularly care.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit hasty?” Tony said.

The smile came unbidden. It stuck hard to Gibbs’ face. Because this was so like Tony, wasn’t it? And one of the things he liked most about him. That fiery wit and spirit, always talking back and testing, questioning, pushing. He wanted to take Tony’s face and grind his dick into it. That would shut him up for a bit.

No…

Tony used this to his advantage. He stood, and walked right up to the man. “You can’t get me outta your head,” he accused. “You’ll never transfer me.”

“I—“ Now it was Gibbs’ turn to gape.

“You won’t. But I get it. Let’s just be friends.” Tony moved away and sat back down.

Gibbs watched him warily, wondering where the catch was to all of his. “We are friends.”

“So let’s talk about our girlfriends’ tits. Or how much of a bitch they are. You first.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Tony cocked his head. “What about that redhead I saw pick you up at work that one day?”

“She’s just a hookup.”

“Oh,” Tony smirked. “This is the start to a good story.”

“And one I’m not tellin’ you.” Gibbs picked up the broom, tucked it away, and instead went for his trusted woodworking tools. The planer was always close at hand, and there was a lot of wood to smooth — DiNozzo’s not included.

Tony, of course, refused to give up. “She the one you think of while you’re fucking my mouth?” he asked. “Or the other night when you fucked me up the ass?” 

“Stop it,” Gibbs snapped. “Stop talking like that.” 

“Why are you so ashamed?” 

Gibbs’ ignored the question, even though it set his teeth on edge. Instead he said, “She and I know each other a little bit. Sometimes we meet up. It’s mutually beneficial.”

“So you’re not opposed to that sort of thing.”

“Well, I don’t work with her, DiNozzo. She bartends down at that cop bar you sometimes go to.”

“Oh! I think I might know her.”

“You definitely know her, Tony, and she knows you, too. Says you’re a creep.”

“I’m not.” 

“Says you try to pick up anybody under thirty. Women under thirty.”

Tony shrugged. “Don’t look at me like that. I like to date. Gotta clean the pipes.”

Gibbs shook his head.

“I get myself tested every month,” Tony insisted. “I’m clean as a whistle.”

“Okay. This is all a relief.”

Tony knew Gibbs was teasing him, but he couldn’t help feeling a bit put out. “You’re trying to say something. So what is it?”

“I’m saying I’m confused about your sudden gay renaissance.”

“Pardon?” 

Gibbs slammed the planer back down on the table. He spelled out the situation. “You. Me. Sex. Why?”

When the truth came out, Gibbs didn’t know what to do with it.

“Guess I’m into you, Boss.” Tony shrugged. Then, after a long pause, he admitted, “When you use me… I—“

“There it is.”

“What?”

“I use you.”

Tony watched him, eyes dark green in the bad lighting. 

“You haven’t gotten off once with me. You give me head. I fuck you. But you never get off.”

“Maybe I prefer it that way,” Tony answered, cagey.

“Why?” Gibbs asked. 

“Well,” Tony looked away and stretched lazily as he got up. “That would ruin the mystery, wouldn’t it?” He scratched his side. “I should go.”

But Gibbs was in front of him now, taking his hand. Tony stared at him.

Then they were kissing. Slowly at first, then savagely. Gibbs grabbed ahold of him, and pushed him hard against the skeleton of the boat. Tony let out a gasp, then quickly began to work on Gibbs’ belt.

They said nothing. Demanded nothing.

And soon, Gibbs’ dick was in Tony’s mouth, pants caught around his knees, and Gibbs’ eyes were closed, and he was thinking not of the man sucking on him, but a woman. Soft and pretty and familiar. Not a man. And definitely not Tony. Even though he could clearly feel the stubble as he ran his fingers over his face and grabbed ahold of short hair. Rough hands ran from his thighs and up to his ass. He thrust, carefully at first, and then with a bit more passion.

Tony stilled him with one hand on the base of his cock. He took a breather, mouth wet and eyes turned up, looking Gibbs’ right in the eye. “Better calm down, Gunny. Gonna make me ralph.”

Gibbs chuckled, and grasped Tony by the chin. God, he had a pretty face. He wanted to lick those long dark eyelashes. Then he laughed even harder at the ridiculous notion. 

“Why are you laughing?” Tony asked, suspicious.

“You.”

“Am I doing something wrong?”

“No. You’re fucking gorgeous.” Gibbs ran his hand through Tony’s honey brown hair.

“Why thank you. You’re not so bad looking yourself.”

“Hmm,” Gibbs hummed.

Tony continued working over Gibbs’ cock, using a bit of his teeth now, too. He kept his eyes on Gibbs’, and Gibbs, for his part, kept his eyes on him. If anything, that made him climax even quicker and more explosively, and that revelation was concerning in and of itself.

Before orgasm hit, Gibbs yanked himself out of Tony’s mouth, and pumped himself with his own hand. He grunted as he came, the cum hitting Tony in the face.

Still coming down from the mental haze, he watched Tony lick some of it off his lip and hum. He groaned at the display. “Shit.” And now Tony was wiping it off his face with a finger and sucking it clean like he was cleaning frosting from a cake dish.

“You learn that move from a porno or something?” Tony asked, casual.

Gibbs swallowed. “You keep licking that off of yourself like that, and I’ll come again.”

“Oh, you like that?”

Gibbs nodded. “Do you?”

“I eat my own all the time.”

“Why does this not surprise me.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Try it,” Tony challenged.

Gibbs hesitated, but he finally dropped to his knees in front of Tony. Slowly, due to his bad knee, but Tony was patient. He wiped some of the come off of Tony’s face. Then he stuck the finger in his mouth.

“Can’t believe you’ve never tried you own cum. How old are you?” Tony teased. “How is it?”

“Salty,” Gibbs said. “I guess.” Then he leaned in to kiss Tony, aiming for the corner of his face, licking more of the mess off his face. Simultaneously, he reached out a hand to touch Tony’s crotch, exploratory, rubbing it lightly.

“I like that,” Tony admitted.

“Let me—“

“Not what I want,” Tony said.

“Why?” 

Instead of an answer, Tony simply removed the hand. Then he got up, saying, “I’m gonna wash up.”

Gibbs watched him. “You wanna stay for dinner?” 

Tony thought about it, trying to wipe off more of the sticky gunk. It was a bit awkward answering a dinner invitation with your face covered in jizz. “Sure,” he said. “I’d like that.”

While Tony took a shower, Gibbs went to the kitchen to dig out the basics for spaghetti.

It was 21:30 by the time they finally sat down to eat, and Tony wasn’t shy about the portion he took. “Starved,” he admitted.

Gibbs watched him eat as he mopped up some red sauce with the soggy end of a garlic bread stick. “Glad to have you.” He chewed. “So, since we’re friends, and we were talking about girlfriends, earlier.” Gibbs clearly failed at casual.

Tony chewed a little slower, waiting for Gibbs to get to the point.

“Who’s your girlfriend?” Gibbs finished.

“Don’t have a girlfriend right now, Boss.”

“Why don’t I believe that.”

“Don’t ask me why you don’t believe that. Maybe I just got hookups like you.”

“Just one hookup, DiNozzo.”

“Technically two, then. Including me.” DiNozzo took a huge bite, mumbling. “Unless I don’t count.”

“Answer the question.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Tony said. “Honest. Besides, sounds like your hookup can verify that I’m a one-night-stand kinda guy. One shot wonder. But before you get all hot and bothered over that, I’ll have you know, everybody goes into it willingly. Everybody knows it’s a one night only deal, maybe more, if I’m into it, or if they can get me into it. And yeah, sometimes I get ahold of a real psycho,” Tony shrugged, “But they’re usually a good fuck, so there’s that.”

Gibbs hummed, not at all sure about Tony’s dating philosophy. It all sounded a bit… bohemian. Then again, maybe it was a generational thing. DiNozzo was a decade younger. Thirty-something and obviously a fan of carnal pleasure divorced from the trappings of emotion. Gibbs couldn’t really compare his life with Tony’s. In his thirties he’d been a military man, married with a kid. Tony’s lifestyle, however exhilarating, seemed a bit… empty.

“Sounds lonely,” Gibbs stated, out loud. And afterward, he knew he should have kept it to himself, because Tony got very quiet and avoided his eyes.

They finished eating in silence. Tony offered to wash the dishes, but Gibbs told him they’d keep until morning.

Gibbs suggested they turn on the game, and Tony didn’t argue. Gibbs sat on the couch, in the glow of the television, and he said nothing as Tony curled up next to him, body pressed against his side. It was oddly intimate, and it gave Gibbs pause, but he didn’t question it, finding comfort in having another warm body so close.

Around midnight, Tony was sound asleep, face turned into Gibbs’ upper arm, breathing steadily. Gibbs shook his shoulder, and groggily Tony got up, looked around in confusion, and Gibbs spoke quietly in his ear: “Guest room is open.”

—

Morning. Hot coffee. Empty driveway. Empty bed. Unmade.

Gibbs smiled through the heady steam of the usual brew.

—

They found each other in the basement, and for once Gibbs had a lot to say.

He didn’t bother with pretending to work on the boat. Truth was, he’d been waiting down here for Tony, and he knew he’d show up eventually. And when he did… 

“I saw you,” Gibbs said

The pointed words stopped Tony in his tracks at the bottom of the steps. DiNozzo must have changed his clothes since leaving work, and the implications of that — the why’s and the how’s, but mostly the why’s — dug even deeper into Gibbs’ supposedly thick skin. Because he knows what he saw, and he can’t stop thinking about the past few weeks like they were some kind of joke. He watched the man’s body anyway, covered in jeans and a Ravens t-shirt. He knew what Tony looked like underneath all that.

Tony had a bottle in his hands, and he held it aloft as if Gibbs had said nothing at all. “You saw me?” he asked, already smiling. “Brought you something. The check-out girl at the ABC says it goes down real smooth. Pairs well with chicken marsala, which I plan on making for you, and well you know: Chicken… cock… one in the same.”

Gibbs set his jaw, turned away, and ran one of his hands over one smooth length of wood. His boat. He’d been neglecting it, since all of this with DiNozzo. He’d been distracted, and all of those nights, he’d worked on her only as a way to pass the time between getting home and getting with Tony. “I don’t drink wine.”

“Well—“

“I saw you, Tony,” Gibbs repeated. “I saw you sitting with him at that restaurant patio.” He wanted to get to the point, here and now. Wanted to drag it out into the open, so they could get over it, and so Tony could get the hell out of here, and so Gibbs could return to reality and work on his boat. Alone. In his basement, a sanctuary he felt had been invaded as of late. Not only by DiNozzo’s body, but by his problems and needs and wants and whims, and Gibbs didn’t want all that down here. Needed none of it. What had it gained him?

“Saw him touching you,” Gibbs went on, voice strangely hoarse. “Kissing you.” 

Suddenly, he wondered how much of anything Tony had said to him was true. All of that worry and guilt he’d admitted to that first night down here. Had any of it been true, or had it only been a clever ploy to get Tony what he wanted? Gibbs knew DiNozzo well enough. He knew DiNozzo was a guy who didn’t want for much, not because he was perpetually blessed, but because he was perpetually self-serving.

Or, perpetually self-obsessed.

Gibbs turned, but his hand was still connected with the wood. He imagined that it gave him strength. If nothing else, gripping it prevented him from swinging a fist at Tony’s face.

DiNozzo, for his part, pulled an expression that closely resembled perplexity. “Been checking up on me, Boss?” It was no more accusation than it was a harmless question.

“Yeah. I have. Thought—“ Gibbs stopped himself from revealing too much.

“Thought what?”

Hell with it, Gibbs thought, as he asked, “Who is he?”

Tony shrugged a shoulder, as he moved to the side, carefully setting the bottle of wine on the work table. It sat there, innocent, in and of itself, and it would have been a welcome gesture in some other reality. But in this reality, Gibbs was on the edge of a nasty awakening. He began to wonder at just how tightly DiNozzo had tied the figurative blindfold over his eyes, and just how easily he’d done it.

“He’s just some guy,” Tony answered, firmly. “A friend.”

Gibbs’ eyes never left him. Even the lazy shrug had turned slightly provocative. “Certainly looked friendly.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony bristled. There was an edge to him now, a little jagged.

But Gibbs didn’t play along the way Tony apparently thought he would.

“I met him at a pick-up basketball game,” Tony relented. “We clicked.”

“You clicked,” Gibbs repeated, deadpan. “How so?”

“Like crazy. I mean, since you and I… Guess I’m a lot more curious that I thought.”

“You gonna hook up with him again?”

“Got a lot of questions tonight, Boss. Something on your mind? Buyer’s remorse, maybe?”

“You let him fuck you, too, Tony?” Gibbs asked. He let go of the boat, moved forward, and pressured DiNozzo into taking a step back and away.

When Tony licked his own lips, Gibbs found himself alarmed that he couldn’t tell if it was plain nervousness or some cheap seduction tactic. He wanted none of it now, and although Tony’s mouth looked as fuckable as usual, he didn’t know if it was worth the risk.

Instead of denying it, or playing the offended card, Tony said, maybe a bit sadly, a bit regretfully, “You thought you were special, didn’t you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tony refused to clarify, choosing only to rephrase it, “Thought you were the one and only, didn’t you.”

Gibbs felt the heat rising in his face. He went back to his boat.

“Really? That’s it, isn’t it.” Tony went on. “C’mon…”

“You said you’d never done it before, with a guy.” 

“Because I hadn’t at the time. I wasn’t lying about that.”

“So what, you just saw some random guy one night and decided to get your rocks off?” 

“If it makes you feel better, I’ve slept with three different women since that night we first hooked up.”

“It doesn’t,” Gibbs said. “If anything, I’m thinking this entire thing’s an even bigger mistake than I’d thought.”

Tony threw his hands at the ceiling, saying, “Oh, c’mon! We gotta go through this again?”

“No,” Gibbs said. He poured himself an angry couple fingers of bourbon, the everyday cheap stuff. Offering Tony nothing, he set the half-empty bottle next to the expensive bottle of red wine. “We don’t. Door’s over there.” He gestured at it,when he noticed Tony still standing there in the corner of his eye.

“What about dinner?” Tony pushed.

Gibbs answer was simple: “The door.” He could feel Tony’s frustration from here, and he could also see that frown on his face without even looking. But he feared that if he had to endure DiNozzo’s presence any longer, he’d say — or do — something he would regret.

—

So that night, he slept in the guest room, on the bed Tony never made up when he slept over. He jacked off with a ferocity that left him sore.

And in the morning, he stripped the sheets and tossed them in the washer. Maybe he’d convert the room into a study. It was something he’d always intended to do, just could never find the time, and it would be easy enough to fashion some bookshelves from the wood scraps collecting downstairs.

He thought about it over his morning coffee while he gazed out onto the empty driveway. He mentally made some preliminary plans. Ironed them out.

Yeah. He had to keep his mind busy.

From there, the day progressed as usual.

He saw DiNozzo at work. Kate and McGee, too.

Then they got a call out.

—

Tony cornered him in the parking garage. He stomped from some dark recess, suit jacket slung over an arm, backpack over a shoulder, keys clutched in hand. He slid easily between Gibbs and the car door, bouncing on the balls of his feet, nervous smile stuck to his face.

It looked as painful as the rubber bullet had been that winged Gibbs during the raid. He knew he shouldn’t’ve trusted Metro’s aim…

“Boss, hey, I found ya,” DiNozzo was saying.

Briefly, Gibbs wondered just how long Tony’d been lying in wait down here to catch his exit. He’d been laid up with Duck for longer than he’d like, letting his old friend poke and prod at him and ask mundane questions like “is this painful?” and “what about this?” And yeah, everything was pretty fucking painful. The little bullet had packed a helluva punch, and subsequently slamming his face into a formica table afterward hadn’t been much better.

Feeling poorly prepared for this new assault, Gibbs stumbled.

DiNozzo caught ahold of his bicep with his free hand, steadying him, still with that stupid grin on his face.

“Thought you’d gone,” Gibbs grunted, digging in a pocket for his own keys. He didn’t bother removing Tony’s hand from his arm. He’d never admit it, but he felt like having a spotter right now wasn’t a bad idea.

“Wanted to wait for you,” Tony said. “Ducky say everything’s okay?”

“Yeah. Just a bruise.” He felt those familiar eyes on him. Saw them searching his face, looking for something. An opening maybe. But Gibbs made sure his expression was closed and unwelcoming.

“Not here, I know,” Tony then said, voice quiet.

Gibbs hid any and all surprise at Tony’s perceptiveness. “Just a bruise,” he repeated. “Move.” 

Tony didn’t move. “I’m driving you home.”

“Move.”

“No, I’m driving you home.”

Before he could argue any further, Tony was tugging him a few spots down to his own vehicle, and before he could think of any of the implications, Tony was already starting up the engine, putting it in gear, and driving them home.

The sun had set hours ago, leaving the streets and buildings drenched in the glow of headlights and street lamps. Tony, for his part, stayed quiet, and on occasion Gibbs snuck a couple looks at him, but he couldn’t read much in the variating patterns of orange light that slid on and off of the other man’s face.

He could tell he wasn’t smiling anymore, at least.

—

“You promised me,” Tony spoke softly, somewhere near his ear, though Gibbs couldn’t tell because he wasn’t looking Tony’s way. He was looking at the ceiling. Staring at it, blissed out and content, and — temporarily at least — not thinking of the throbbing going on in his chest muscles.

He grunted. “Hm?”

“Said you wouldn’t do that again,” Tony went on.

Gibbs’ brain caught up with the unwanted conversation. He pushed out a sigh. “Remember saying I couldn’t promise you that.” He let that sink in a bit, and he could already feel Tony’s disappointment from here. He fought off the annoyance that brought along with it. After all, it hadn’t been his fault this time, not entirely. Some inexperienced uniform got trigger happy. At least it hadn’t been a real bullet. Otherwise, he’d be dead, for sure, and Tony would be wasting his time nagging at his grave rather than his person.

“The vest. You weren’t wearing your vest. Why?”

It was too dark in this bedroom for this particular conversation, and now Gibbs was pissed off. Tony’d gotten him off, and it had been fucking good, like all of the other times, and all he’d wanted to do afterward was bask in it and go to bed and forget about the kiss of some dumb rookie’s rubber bullet until tomorrow morning. Oh yeah, and he’d given into it, Tony’s ever-dependable brand of sexual magnetism winning him over again. 

Again. Again. Again. 

He rolled over, twisted on the bedside lamp, then rolled back over.

But Tony was already up and out of the bed, naked for now, skin golden in the warm yellow light. He found his pants quickly, hitched them up.

Gibbs found himself asking, “Where you going?” 

“Home,” Tony said, casual. He zipped up, then dug around for his undershirt.

It took a bit for Gibbs to pull himself upright in the bed. He winced as the huge bullseye bruise made itself known. He made sure the bedsheets kept him covered. Panting, he offered, “You should stay.”

Finally, Tony located his shirt. He gave it a sniff and winced at the sharp stink of body odor, but he pulled it on anyway. Then he found his dress shirt, deeply wrinkled now. He began to button it, but failed to notice he’d skipped a hole. “You get what you needed?”

Gibbs narrowed his eyes in question.

“Are you satisfied?” Tony asked. “Was it good for you?”

Gibbs turned the question around. “What about you?”

Tony scoffed. “What about me?” He was now yanking on his socks.

Slowly, painfully, Gibbs pulled himself upright. He said nothing, just took Tony by the wrist and yanked him closer. Then he started fixing Tony’s shirt, unbuttoning and re-buttoning it. He saw Tony watching his fingers as they traveled steadily up the shirt. Three buttons from the collar, Gibbs stopped and lightly grabbed Tony’s chin. He looked into those green eyes, but no matter how long he spent crawling into them and searching for a place to rest, he was always left knowing even less than he’d known before. 

Tony’s hand came up, wrapping around his wrist, as if to preemptively ward off any rough treatment.

Clearly, no one knew what the fuck they were doing here, least of all Gibbs. So he just patted Tony on the cheek and said, wry grin on his face, “Drive safe.”

He’d leave it at that.

“Good talk, Boss,” Tony said. “Good talk.”


End file.
